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Graffiti of watching eyes on a wall. Concept: Prison experience.
Photo from Unsplash

If these walls could talk
I wonder what they’d say.

Man, I’ve seen a lot of shit
That no amount of bleach can wash away.
I seen thousands cry!
I seen many men die!
I seen the strongest flip
And the toughest turn snitch.
I seen many who stumble
Then find faith in God or Allah
Become changed
And humbled.
I seen many fights
Through the dark and light,
Day after day,
Year after year,
Night after night!
I seen many fail,
Some who succeeded,
And those were the toughest
Because hard times even make the faithful
Not believe it!
I seen many grow
From young, big, to tall
Until their gray hairs hit them,
Eventually growing old and small.
I’ve seen too many emotions,
So much pain …
That’s why every time a person dies inside,
It always seems to rain.
People don’t know,
These walls cry too
Because no matter how many times you clean them,
This is some pain that one can’t undo.
That’s why when you look,
It’s stains on the walls,
Names on the walls,
Scratches on these cheap beds,
Carved by knives, steel and chains on the walls.
That’s why it’s scum on the walls,
Dried up paper and feces
Stuck like gum on the walls.
A bunch of
Free me’s and Free you’s
F— him and F— you
RIP to the families and friends on the
Block that got killed!
With a bunch of unheard
I was here when…
And me too’s…

Only if these walls could talk.

Disclaimer: The views in this article are those of the author. Global Forum Online has verified the writer’s identity and basic facts such as the names of institutions mentioned.

Billy Blaze is a poet incarcerated in Maryland. He uses a pseudonym.